Chapter 20
20
Tam
Tam had hoped that Trish would be pleased to hear his news. Admittedly it was a cock-and-bull story he’d told her, but he thought he’d been pretty convincing. A fictitious argument with an equally fictitious girlfriend had seemed just the thing to explain away his sleeping arrangements, or so he’d thought anyway. He had stressed how temporary an arrangement it had been, even squirming with embarrassment at having to tell his boss such personal information but, from behind her desk, Trish just smiled. Purely perfunctory, she barely even looked at him. And that wasn’t like her.
‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘I’m glad we’ve sorted that out.’ She gave another smile, tighter than the first and Tam quailed slightly. Trish wasn’t stupid – was it really so obvious that he’d just lied?
‘So, is that all you need?’ he asked, businesslike but breezy.
She looked up at him then, properly, for the first time since he’d stepped into the office, and Tam realised the look in her eyes had nothing to do with what he’d just told her.
‘I’m sorry, Tam,’ she said, dropping her gaze. ‘But we lost Eleanor last night.’
Tam stared at her, confused. Lost …? The meaning of her words came to him as if spoken in a foreign language he struggled to understand.
‘I know how fond of her you were.’
And he realised then that Trish had been crying.
Despite all their different backgrounds and experiences, death was the one thing which connected all the residents of Chawston House. When he first started working there it had been Trish who told him that death was the only certainty in life, and she had been right. It didn’t matter whether you were rich or poor, practitioner of a faith or bereft of any, the journey on to the next adventure was only ever just around the corner – it was just that for some the road took a little longer to travel. And now Eleanor’s next adventure had already begun, and Tam hadn’t even got to wish her bon voyage. Or remind her to pack enough Jaffa Cakes for the journey.
It was something they had joked about, and he had marvelled at the way Eleanor could laugh about the details of her demise in such a matter-of-fact way. But she had simply smiled and told him that she was determined to enjoy her death just as much as she had her life. Yet he’d still always thought he’d be there for her, waving her off as she – her words – ‘skipped down the path, now my blasted hip won’t be giving me gip’. But now she had gone, and what hurt Tam the most was that no one had been there to bear witness to such a remarkable woman.
It wasn’t the first time that someone had died during Tam’s time at Chawston House, but Eleanor had been special and, as Tam walked down the corridor towards her room, he could feel her death like a shroud, cloaking the house and its light, so that the very colours appeared dulled by its presence. In Eleanor’s room, however, Tam was happy to feel the old lady’s spirit just as if she was still with them. Even her mug with the dregs of last night’s black coffee hadn’t yet been tidied away and was still on the table beside her chair. She could so easily have popped out for a moment, returning with gossip from the dining room and a pilfered packet of chocolate biscuits. At least it was a comfort knowing that death had been kind to Eleanor – she had simply gone to sleep and hadn’t woken up in the morning.
Tam sat gently on her bed, his head bowed. Up until the other night, Eleanor had been the only person who knew about his circumstances. She had winkled it out of him one evening, her astuteness surprising him, but it had forged the connection between them, and it had made Tam feel comforted. Eleanor had seen him, warts and all, and still liked what she saw. They were co-conspirators, and just the thought of her had made Tam feel less alone. And now she was gone.
The rest of Tam’s shift passed interminably slowly, and for the first time since he had begun to work at Chawston House, he longed for clocking-off time, even if that did mean another freezing night in his car. He thought about the flask and hot-water bottle nestled on the passenger seat, and about Frankie and the kindness she had done him. About William, too, and his easy acceptance of Tam, and somehow these thoughts were enough to get him through the day.
Frankie practically dragged him through the door as soon as she saw him.
‘You look terrible,’ she said, appraising Tam with an intensity that almost made him flinch. ‘Sit down, I’ll get the kettle on.’
She ignored each and every comment he made about it being time to leave and, although she was busy – heaving around sacks of flour and huge metal pans – she also made it clear she had time to listen. And provide more treats: pecan frangipane tarts this time.
‘I sat in Eleanor’s chair and thought about my mum,’ said Tam, dabbing at the crumbs on his plate. ‘Before she had her stroke, she would argue black was white, just like Eleanor did, but they’d have got on like a house on fire. She’s still pretty feisty now, mind. She has a little less movement and a little less hearing than she did before, but God forbid you let on, or she’ll have your guts for garters.’
Frankie smiled. ‘Sounds a bit like my nan,’ she said. ‘But she’s gone now too. Makes you wonder how long you’ve got them for, doesn’t it?’
‘I’m lucky,’ replied Tam. ‘It’s been three years since Mum had her stroke and she’s a fighter. She made a good recovery, but her living on her own still worries me. Not that she’d have it any other way.’
‘Is your dad not with you then?’ asked Frankie, flouring loaf tins at speed.
‘He died nearly five years ago,’ said Tam. ‘So now it’s just Mum – Rose – and our little tabby cat, Pickle, who I swear is almost as old as she is. Mum still lives in the house I grew up in as a child. It’s colder than I’d like, and the garden is too much for her to manage now, but it’s woven through with memories, every inch of it. I think, without them, she’d be so much less.’ Tam smiled wistfully. ‘It’s funny, isn’t it, how the older you get the more you think about the past? I can remember every crack in the ceiling of my old room, but not what I was doing last week.’
‘Nostalgia’s a funny thing,’ said Frankie. ‘So warm, and comfortable, yet it takes something from you too, I think. And leaves a bittersweet taste in its place.’ She paused for a moment, eyes warm on his. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way,’ she said. ‘But you’re obviously close to your mum. Couldn’t you go and live with her?’
‘No.’ Tam’s response was emphatic. ‘There’s nothing I’d like more, especially under the circumstances. But it would break her heart…literally.’ He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t take the risk.’
‘Break her heart…? Why would it do that?’
‘Because she doesn’t know what happened,’ said Tam, his gaze dropping to the floor. ‘And if she knew, the shock might be too much. She still thinks I live in my little cottage, running my horticultural business. Despite her medication, her blood pressure is too high and every day it edges her closer to a heart attack or another stroke. So, I see her twice a week. I bring the shopping and together we drink tea and eat cake and talk about the pretend life that I’ve woven to hide the truth. Sometimes my stories about my work, its plants and its customers, are so real, I almost believe them myself.’ He shrugged to hide his shame. ‘But I’ll continue to tell them, because it’s as much about ensuring my mum’s happiness as it is a reminder that one day I’ll have that life again. I only hope we have enough time left for that to happen.’
‘But she’s your mum,’ said Frankie gently. ‘She’d understand, surely?’
‘She would,’ replied Tam. ‘But I don’t want to ask her to. I want her to still believe in me, be proud of me. How stupid is that? At my age? Plus, she thinks the world of Chris – we grew up together.’
‘It’s not stupid at all,’ replied Frankie. ‘No one wants to let down those they love, do they? Except that sometimes we have a choice to make. We either let someone else down, or we let ourselves down. And sometimes the only way to save ourselves is to let others think badly of us.’
Tam looked up, caught by something in the tone in Frankie’s voice, as if she was no longer speaking about him. He opened his mouth to ask if she was okay, but she turned away abruptly and disappeared into the storeroom.
‘I’m still listening,’ she called. ‘And you do realise that you don’t owe Chris anything? You certainly don’t owe him your mum’s good opinion of him. I think your mum would surprise you. I think she’d be horrified at what Chris did and any goodwill she had towards him would evaporate in an instant. Mums are like that – they go all mumma bear when anything threatens their kids, even if those kids are very grown up. You’re still her child. I reckon she’d be firmly on your side and probably quite cross that you hadn’t told her. She’d have wanted to help, you see.’
‘Perhaps…’ Tam sighed. ‘But the doctors warned me that she shouldn’t get stressed, or unduly upset. I couldn’t live with myself if anything happened to her because of me.’
‘I get that. But you also have to live with the knowledge that you’re not being truthful with her, and that doesn’t square with a man who believes in integrity, who literally gave up everything he had so that no one else would suffer as a result of his actions.’
A sad smile crossed Tam’s face. ‘And that is exactly why I don’t tell her.’